Millionaire Best Friend: A Secret Baby Romance

by Natasha L. Black

  As someone who grew up in the circumstances I had, I was overwhelmed, but in the best way. It was that kind of overwhelmed when you get too many birthday presents or see Santa Claus for the first time. It was too much, but I didn’t want less. I could definitely see why Greg said they were such a great family to work for.

  When we left that night, it was with hugs from everybody I’d met. They gushed about the food I brought and asked me to bring more. That made me smile, and I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face even ten minutes later when we were driving down the road. Greg looked over at me and mirrored the smile.

  “You look happy,” he said.

  “I just can’t believe they liked the food I made,” I said. “Sounds silly, but that really means a lot to me.”

  “It should,” Greg said. “Especially coming from them. Minnie cooks all the time. And I mean all the time. That place is constantly full of baked goods she makes. They are pretty particular, and they wouldn’t lie about liking something.”

  “Do you think we could stop by the grocery store?” I asked.

  “Sure, do you need something?”

  “I want to stock up on ingredients. I have a whole list of recipes I want to try. And I have the time to do it, so why not?” I asked.

  He grinned a little wider. “Why not?”

  8

  Greg

  I could definitely get used to waking up in the morning to the smells of Maya making breakfast. Even if those smells were often accompanied by loud music playing and creative streams of profanity when she knocked over pots and pans or burned something. Her new life quest might be to conquer baking, but like most life quests, it wasn’t going to be instantly successful.

  Even with the missteps, I was impressed by her dedication. It might seem like a small thing to a lot of people, but her sudden devotion to baking was a big step. It carried a lot more meaning to me than her just wanting to be able to whip up a nice basket of muffins when she was planning on visiting.

  This was about her overcoming perceptions of herself and challenges she faced when we were young. This was one of the things about her I knew most people she encountered never knew. She was sweet and fun and beautiful, and people often thought of her as being carefree.

  I knew that wasn’t really the case. Not that she was fake in any way. Just that she chose what she was willing to show to other people. And that very rarely included the darkness that still hung over her from her past.

  The deaths of her parents and everything she went through after were extremely hard on her. Instead of letting herself struggle with those issues directly, she instead developed different ways of channeling the pain. Unfortunately, that came in the form of her limiting herself.

  She pushed back against commitment and closeness to people with a vengeance. She often teased herself for not living up to ideals, or her being bad at very specific things. Sometimes she was right, but other times, I felt like she was depending on those limitations to be her scapegoat.

  If she said she didn’t want a commitment or didn’t want to be a wife and mother, she didn’t have to risk opening her heart to someone who would hurt her. She didn’t have to face the fear that she might end up not being a good mother or leaving her child too soon.

  If she could say she was really bad at baking, then she didn’t have to face it and possibly get a recipe wrong or make something people didn’t like. Baking meant more to her than just cooking. She was willing to cook because it came naturally to her, but baking felt more significant. She always said people put so much emphasis on baked goods. Birthday and wedding cakes. Special treats on holidays.

  Baking felt more like handing her heart over to somebody. Her mother baked when she was young. She never believed she could live up to that.

  Seeing her suddenly motivated to try these new things and face the discomfort and fear she always felt made me hopeful. It was like she really was willing to start this new life. She was going to put Marshall and all that nonsense behind her and discover who she could really be.

  That Thursday morning, I woke up to a towering stack of blueberry pancakes and another studded with chocolate chips. Bacon made a mountain on another, and she was staring down into a pot of what I could only imagine would eventually be hard-boiled eggs.

  “Smells good,” I said when I walked into the kitchen and headed for the coffee maker.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m making you a couple of snacks to bring to work with you. All that junk food you have stuffed in your locker isn’t good for you.”

  I laughed. “See? This is what I get for having a woman in my house. All of a sudden I can’t eat cheese doodles anymore.”

  She shook her head and waved a spoon at me. “Nope. No cheese doodles for you.”

  “So, should I go ahead and throw away the bag you have hidden in the cabinet under the TV?” I asked.

  “Also, nope,” she said. “Those don’t count. Movie food.”

  I nodded, accepting her logic. “So, tonight is the race. I’m not going to the compound; I’m meeting up with the team and heading right for the track. You should come. It’s a lot of fun.”

  It was true. The races were a blast, but I also just didn’t want to leave her alone in her first week in Charlotte. I didn’t want her to feel abandoned or like she wasn’t a part of everything. Somehow, she didn’t seem bothered. Instead, she shook her head.

  “No that’s ok, I’m going to just hang around here. I only have a few more days until I have to start work, so I plan on spoiling myself with a bubble bath, hours of cooking shows, and baking. I was thinking about cooking up some freezer meals, so you’ll be all stocked up for weeknight dinners.”

  “That sounds good. But you know I have to put in a request,” I said.

  She looked over her shoulder at me. “Your favorite? Black forest cake?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “You need to get that one down pat. I’ll be requiring them on at least a monthly basis.”

  Maya laughed and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. “Have a good race. But be careful. I don’t want to get a call from anybody that you’re smeared across the track. I just don’t have time for all that.”

  I grinned and gave her a squeeze. “I promise. And I’ll give you a call when I’m done and headed back to the apartment. It might be kind of late.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be around. Good luck and be safe,” she said.

  When I got to the racetrack, the first thing the team did was help set up the tailgate party. This was one of Merry’s brilliant ideas. Along with being Quentin’s wife, she was also the Freeman Racing’s social media manager and PR consultant.

  What started as her just revamping the team’s social media presence and working to build more of an online presence turned into full-blown marketing. She was brimming with ideas for how to build the team’s fanbase even more and attract the attention of bigger and more impressive sponsors. And this was particularly important for me. I didn’t have the Freeman name to fall back on. If I wanted to be anything more than just the second rider on their team, I had to build a reputation for myself.

  The tailgate parties before the races were working well to get me there. The parties drew crowds of fans to eat from local food trucks, listen to music, and buy special race-specific merchandise. There was also an exhibit demonstrating the custom-bike service offered as a side business to the main racing company.

  During my time away because of my injuries, the parties were focused on Darren. However as soon as I was able to get back out on the track, they introduced me back into them. Now both of us had fans who came to buy T-shirts and get autographs. We took pictures and chatted for a few minutes before it was time to head down to the track.

  It was always a boost to have that bit of time with our fans. It reminded us even more why we loved our careers so much.

  As much as we enjoyed the parties, we never let ourselves stay too long. The most important part of getting to the racetrack early was it all
owed Darren and me to walk down to the track itself. This was a ritual he and I had done from the very beginning. The day of my first race, he walked with me down to the track, and we stepped out onto it.

  Rather than just looking at it, we walked around the entire thing. Taking a lap around the oval before getting on our bikes was a way to get the feel of it, to get used to it and see it from a different perspective. It helped us later when we were zipping around at a hundred miles an hour. We weren’t in a rush when we walked around, but taking that time pumped us up and made us feel more prepared.

  It was also a chance to just talk. There wasn’t any one specific topic we talked about, and though it might have seemed counterintuitive, we always avoided talking about the race. It was almost like we wanted that lap around the track to feel normal, to integrate it into our regular thoughts so it felt more familiar to us later.

  We had already raced on this particular track many times, but I still enjoyed the chance to walk around it. That day, our conversation went right to Maya.

  “How do you think she’s settling in?” Darren asked.

  “Well, it’s only been a couple of days, but she seems to be doing all right. Of course, the whole thing was a major shock to her at first, but I feel like her coming here was the best thing possible for her. She can get away from all the mess in Shelby and really start over.”

  “Like you did?” Darren asked.

  “Exactly,” I said. “You know, we haven’t seen each other since I left. I’m really glad that didn’t stop her from coming to me when she needed help. It doesn’t matter to me how long we’re apart. I would do anything for Maya.”

  “Sounds like it,” Darren said. “The two of you are really close, aren’t you?”

  “Closer than any other person in my life,” I said. “I can’t really explain it. But we kind of buffer each other from the world. No matter what we were going through, we were always able to fall back on each other. We were safe when we were together. What was funny about it was we didn’t have the same group of friends, or the same interests. Other than things like watching the same movies.”

  “Then how did you end up such good friends?” Darren asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t really know. We’ve known each other pretty much our entire lives. Shelby isn’t a big place, so you’re bound to interact with most people who live there. But we didn’t really become close until the end of middle school. We just kind of started spending time together. Then we spent more time together. Then that was it,” I said. “We had our own little bubble away from everything and everyone else.”

  “So, how well do you really know her?” Darren asked, the question heavy with a second meaning.

  I threw a glare at him. “Not like that. I don’t know her that way at all.”

  “Seriously?” Darren asked. “You two are that close, you talk about her like you would lay down your life for her, but you’ve never, you know, been with her?”

  “Never,” I said.

  “Seriously? Never?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” I said. “It wasn’t like that with Maya and me. And I didn’t bring her to live with me because of that.” Though if I were honest with myself, I wouldn’t be upset if it happened.

  “I know that,” Darren said. “You just want what’s best for her. I think it’s amazing that she got a job at Lindsey’s place. We all really like her, Greg. We want to take care of her just like we do you.”

  The conversation I had with Darren made me feel good, and I carried that feeling with me into the race that night. I came in second to Darren. Even though I didn’t win, I couldn’t be disappointed in placing second in my first race back after my injury.”

  Coming in second still gave me a solid payday on top of the bonuses the sponsors gave me. It would pad my bank account even more and let me help Maya get what she needed to settle into her new life. Starting with buying her an actual bed.

  As I stood there getting my prize and posing for pictures, all I could think about was calling her and telling her about my win. I couldn’t help, but wish she were there.

  9

  Maya

  Having the apartment to myself while Greg was out at the race felt luxurious. His place was much nicer than the one I’d been living in before moving in with Marshall.

  One of the things about Marshall that had impressed me and made me feel like I could have a relationship with him was that he seemed so much more humble than the rest of his family. I knew when we were in high school, he had the reputation of being like the other Brinkleys, which meant he was known for being arrogant and elitist. I didn’t see that in him. He was kind and generous when we started dating, and he went to great lengths not to be associated with his father when working at the factory.

  And it kept him from living in as much luxury as he had the option to. Even still, his apartment was beautiful, and when I got to move into it, I felt like I was on top of the world. I had really arrived. Or at least I was definitely on my way.

  Yet I never fully settled in there. I was comfortable in that apartment. We had spent a lot of time together there when we were dating, and I was familiar with it. When I moved in, I put a lot of effort into making it as much my own as I could. But by the time I left, it still didn’t feel like home. I had tried to tell myself it was because it had only been a few weeks. I knew now that I’d been wrong.

  Being here with Greg was different. I had only been living in his apartment for a few days and was still sleeping on a couch in a spare room. Yet, I felt more comfortable and at ease in that space than I ever had in Marshall’s apartment.

  Despite feeling so comfortable and looking forward to the chance to cook and relax, I felt a little bit guilty for not going to the race. For everything Greg was doing for me, the least I could do in return was be there to support him while he raced. But the thought terrified me.

  I had watched racing in my life. I’d even gone to a few car races and found myself having fun, all swept up in the excitement and enthusiasm at the events. Still it was such an abstract idea to me. It was just nameless, faceless people driving around. I wasn’t really there for the mindless circling of the track.

  I was there for the music, the beer, and the dancing. The races were fun, but when I thought about Greg being one of the people out there on the track, not even in a car, but on the back of a motorcycle, it made my heart tighten in my stomach flip. I was terrified something was going to happen to him.

  The story of his crash was horrifying. When he first told me about it, I tried to laugh my way through it. I tried to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. If I shrugged it off and didn’t let myself really think about it, then I didn’t have to be so afraid. I didn’t have to have the terror and sadness thinking about him going through that much danger and pain.

  There was no way I would be able to stand there and watch him race. Not right now, at least. My emotions were still worn thin, and I doubted I would be able to cope with the stress and worry of watching him be right on the brink of disaster again.

  This didn’t mean I didn’t miss him. He had only been gone for a short while when I realized I wished he was still there. It was so nice having him around. I had already gotten used to the feeling of him being in my life again.

  Fortunately, I could comfort myself by diving into the bags of groceries I’d picked up at the store on the way back from the compound the day before. I might have gone a little bit overboard, but every time I turned down an aisle, I saw more ingredients that reminded me of recipes I’d found or inspired me to try something new.

  Now that I’d gotten the baking bug, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything I wanted to do. The conversation I’d had with Greg stuck with me. He was so surprised by how excited I was to start baking, and maybe I should have been, too. It was never my strength, but it was always something my mother did. I compared myself to her and felt like I would never be able to live up to her memory.

  And now I felt like I could do it
. Suddenly, it was like parts of me that had been hiding were freed and I could try to find myself again. Or maybe really be myself for the first time.

  That day, I started with a few basics as a warm-up. Muffins and biscuits filled baskets on the counter, and a batch of cupcakes were already in the oven. I went over the recipe of for Greg’s black forest cake and gathered up all the ingredients. With my new favorite baking show playing in the background, I mixed up the batter for the cake and poured it into the baking pans so they would be ready as soon as I took the cupcakes out of the oven.

  When that was finished, it was time to face the foe that had been intimidating me for years. I was going to bake bread.

  Several minutes of careful measuring, re-measuring, and measuring for a third time later, I mixed the flour, yeast, salt, sugar, and water together into what looked like the perfect dough. I dropped it down into a mixing bowl coated with oil and draped a kitchen towel over it. I had even stolen the trick of one of the TV chefs and warmed the towel in the microwave before I put it over the bowl.

  Now all I had to do was wait. The bread had to rise for an hour before I could punch and knead it. I looked down at myself and realized I was completely covered with all manners of kitchen residue. Flour, chocolate, sugar, oil, and eggs coated my apron and stuck to my skin. I needed a shower.

  An idea occurred to me, and I smiled. What I really needed was a bath.

  There was a small bathroom off my bedroom, but it only had a walk-in shower. A quick peek into Greg’s bathroom confirmed he had a nice bathtub. He wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it for just a little bit while he was gone.